On the Rooftop
by Of Pearls and Paints
Summary: "Suddenly I realized it's not how you die. No, it's much more that that. It's who you die for." Added scene on the rooftop with Katniss and Peeta before the Quarter Quell.


Tossing and turning, stretching and getting up for water; these actions do nothing but prevent one from falling asleep. However, I perform each and every one of them, determined that this trip of water will be the last. Seeing that I certainly won't be falling asleep soon, I make my way to the rooftop. My mind flashes back to the games last year, heading to the rooftop because sleep was unattainable.

It suddenly strikes me how different the situation is from the seventy-fourth games. How last year, I was resolved to win, to go home to Prim, and now I'm accepting my looming death and making it my duty to bring Peeta home as victor. When I reach the rooftop I find I'm not alone. Another victor is there, silently sitting and watching the busy Capitol. I take a seat next to him quietly, pretending to find the scenery intriguing.

"Didn't we do the same thing last time?" Peeta asks quietly.

"Yeah. Except this time it's different."

"In what way?"

"Well I don't hate you as much."

"I'm glad. I was starting to think you'd never come around," he jokes. I turn to him and pretend to be amused.

"I never said that."

"You didn't. It was my own inference." Our conversation quickly dies out and is instead replaced by an impending word that echoes in our heads, decrees our fate: tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll be sent into an arena with twenty-two other tributes, all victors and all accomplished killers. Tomorrow will decide who's dead and who's not. Tomorrow will be the hardest day of them all. It's Peeta who speaks first, who lets our thoughts escape into conversation.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I repeat, and offer him a weak smile. He doesn't return it and looks down at his hands, examining the short white crescents.

"I'd always imagined myself dying in other ways. Starvation. Execution. At home, if lucky. But never did I imagine myself dying at the hands of a kid just as innocent as I. It wasn't until my name got reaped that I began to think of all the other ways I could die. The list has grown." Peeta pauses and I wonder where exactly he's going with this.

"Suddenly I realized it's not how you die. No, it's much more that that. It's who you die for." And suddenly I know exactly where Peeta's going with this. Dread fills my stomach and I feel the urge to cough, to do anything.

"And?" I inquire.

"And what?"

"Why'd you go on that whole tangent about dying? We both know what's going to happen tomorrow," I say, frustrated.

"I know that. It just makes me feel better, talking. And well, as we're both going into an arena to fight to the death, that's what's on my mind. Do you feel that way?" The answer is no, at least that's what I tell myself. But then I think back to many times I've heard Gale rant about the Capitol and the times in which I've blurted out my thoughts to Cinna and find myself saying yes, talking does make me feel better.

"Is it bizarre that I'm peaceful?"

"Hmm?" In the short time between my answer and his question my mind seemed to have drifted off.

"I'm peaceful even though I could die in less than ten hours. Is that strange?"

"You're not going to die in less than ten hours," I say firmly. Didn't I say the same thing only somewhere else in dissimilar circumstances? We were in cave and Peeta was saying something about not coming back. Instinctively I kissed him, the first time I'd ever kissed a boy. Then I told him he wasn't going to die and I forbade it.

"Didn't you say that somewhere else?"

"In the cave. Ironic how I'm saying the same thing to you again."

"Yeah…That was nice wasn't it? You and me telling each other stories, eating Capitol food. I'd give anything for more of that lamb stew." He drifts off in thought.

"Except for the fact that we could've died anytime," I point out.

"That was just a minor setback." Regardless of my impending doom, I let out a snort.

"Minor? I believe it was more of a major setback."

"Nah, it was minor." Silence fills the air again and a while later I apprehend that my eyelids are drooping. Before I can stop myself I say, "Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for talking."

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